


Drop Dead Gorgeous

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, chance first meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-02
Updated: 2011-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:58:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin meets an interesting new neighbour. He just doesn’t know what the man does for a living. Vaguely inspired by watching a certain shaver commercial over Christmas. Mainly silliness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drop Dead Gorgeous

_**Fic: Drop Dead Gorgeous**_  
 **Title:** Drop Dead Gorgeous  
 **Rating:** G  
 **Pairing:** Merlin/Gwaine  
 **Word Count:** 1,936.  
 **Spoilers:** Spoilers for series 3  
 **Disclaimer:** The characters don’t belong to me; they are the property of the BBC and  
Shine. No profit is being made.  
 **Summary:** Merlin meets an interesting new neighbour. He just doesn’t know what the man does for a living. Vaguely inspired by watching a certain shaver commercial over Christmas. Mainly silliness.  


Merlin parked in front of the semi-detached house and stared at it, leaning across the passenger seat in order to better take it in. It was a redbrick Victorian building, box-like in shape, sitting in a row of other such buildings, gracing a road that curved slightly towards the left half a mile further down.

The house —number 238 — stood on three floors and its windows — the one on the ground floor and giving onto the street was a bow window— were be-curtained, a little dirty and fogged up.

Three steps led up to a door that was painted blue.

It looked conservative, respectable.

Thinking it was high time to, Merlin opened the car's door and jogged up the steps, keys in hand.

He couldn't quite believe the fact that Uncle Gaius had gifted him with a whole house. A house of his own. It scarcely made sense.

The key turned in the lock with a rasp, reminding Merlin that the lock itself would have to be oiled, and, to the accompaniment of protesting hinges giving a squeak, he stepped inside.

Upon inspection he found that the entrance hall and staircase were in need of a coat of paint, but otherwise welcoming and airy.

There was a kitchen at the back Merlin ambled in and got out of quite quickly.

He didn't know how to cook, so his reviewing the room would do little good; it wasn't as if he could make any sound assessment of the old-fashioned range.

Instead, he lingered in the front parlour and rear reading room. The light in this last room streamed in a very nice way, soft and gentle, bathing every angle in a soft glow. That had to be the reason why the room had been singled out as a good place for reading.

Basking in the sun that washed upon the wide desk, Merlin leant against it and took his time to get acquainted with the new environment. He could see himself living here.

He'd change a few things so that the furniture and the colour scheme would suit his personality, get rid of the wallpaper, but the atmosphere was pleasant. Yes, he could stay. He could feel at home here.

Having reached a decision — albeit a gut one — he got out of the house and strode to his car. He opened the boot and got a fairly big and square cardboard box out of it.

It was heavy and not properly secured however much sello-tape Merlin had employed; the words ‘old textbooks’ had been scrawled in marker on one side.

So encumbered, he wobbled up to the house and left it on the floor in the front parlour.

Not even out of breath, he made the journey back to the car.

He was sticking his head in the boot to get at another heavy box when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching and looked up, very nearly banging his head on the lid.

A man was sauntering past, mauling a tune Merlin recognised under his breath, hands in his jacket's pocket.

Merlin's jaw hit the floor. The random passer-by was drop dead gorgeous. In a scruffy way. But still so handsome Merlin could scarcely believe men like that walked the earth. He answered to the definition ‘tall, dark and handsome’.

Flowing hair, bestubbled chin, he looked like a roguish adventurer out of an action film and not like your usual pot-bellied pub regular. (Merlin had had plenty experience with the species.)

Merlin’s gawping must have conveyed what he thought for Mr Sexy stopped in his tracks and whistled, causing Merlin to look left and right for a passing beauty, the leggy kind that always got the attention of guys like the one who had had Merlin's breath hitching for an awkward moment.

Sure he couldn’t be the object of the man’s attention, Merlin was scanning the road in both directions but all he could see was a tabby with its tail in the air.

“I meant you,” the handsome stranger said, laughter in his voice.

Handsome Stranger walked over, stopping a few paces away from Merlin. He leant against Merlin's ratty old car, feet crossed at the ankles, threw a look at the house’s open door and said, “Do you need any help with those boxes, gorgeous?”

Although Merlin was mentally undressing Handsome Stranger and was flattered by his choice of epithet, he wasn't such an idiot as to invite a man he'd never seen before into his new furnished place. Being prudent always paid.

“No, thank you,” he said, perhaps a little wistfully. “I can manage. Just two more for today.”

Handsome Stranger laughed. “I see,” he said. “Let's try again.” He stuck his hand out for Merlin to shake. “I'm Gwaine; I live over there.” He pointed at a house identical to Merlin's own located a little way down the road. “I guess you're moving in.”

Merlin nodded, at a loss for words. Maybe Handsome Stranger wasn't a psycho killer. This was potentially the best news ever. “In a few weeks, yes.”

“That will make us neighbours.” Gwaine winked. “Now what do you say to some neighbourly help?”

Merlin bit his lip and hummed. “You could be lying.” It was true too. Maybe the neighbour thing was a ploy. “You may not live around here at all. Maybe you’re a smart burglar.”

Evidently thrown by the idea someone could doubt his intentions and looking out of narrow eyes at Merlin, Gwaine fished a pair of keys out of his pocket. “I can prove to you that these open that door,” he said, gesturing at the door to Number 345. “Now I'd invite you in for a torrid night of passion but I guess you're the wary kind.”

Merlin shook his head although he was wearing a smile. “Why? Because I didn't let the fist passer-by who wolf-whistled at me in? You could be anyone.”

Gwaine looked confused for a second longer, as if what Merlin had said didn't add up, but he recovered fast enough, as though he’d come to some sort of resolution. “Let me help,” he said all low and sexy.

“I—”

“I'll be a proper gentleman for you.”

“Am I that special?” Merlin deadpanned, not really meaning to fish for compliments. It was just that he put his foot in his mouth all too often. It figured he would on this occasion too.

“Oh, yes,” said Gwaine. “Though I still hope to get that night with you.”

Merlin looked down and drummed his fingers on the top of the cardboard box, “Do you always flirt so shamelessly?”

“Only when I’m enchanted by to die for blue eyes.”

Merlin burst out laughing. Nobody he'd met in his twenty-three years had ever been so over the top about chatting him up before. The fact was that Gwaine had something about him — some sort of gift perhaps —that allowed him to pull the flirt act off.

“Okay,” Merlin said. “You can help me.”

Gwaine smiled and, bracing one of the boxes on his bent knee, lifted it smoothly. “Lead on!”

Merlin took the other and carried it into the front parlour where he left it to sit next to the first one.

Gwaine had done much the same and was having a look around. “Doesn't look like your average bachelor pad to me.”

Merlin wiped his hands on his trousers — which upon reflection he shouldn't have done — and said, “That's because it used to be my uncle's place.”

“But you're single, aren't you?” pressed Gwaine.

“Oh my God,” said Merlin. “You have no shame whatsoever!”

“Nah,” said Gwaine. “Absolutely none. In any department. Should see what I do for a living.”

Merlin was curious but he didn't want to sound as though he was too curious. He'd already been drooling when he'd first clapped eyes on Gwaine and he was ready to bet the man was aware of it. “Good for you.”

“Look,” Gwaine said, handing him a business card upon which were engraved his number and name in flamboyant golden letters. “That's my number. You can ring me up at any time. Or just turn up and have a beer at my place.”

Merlin took the card and stuffed it in his jeans' back pocket, wondering who handed business cards to acquaintances nowadays. Merlin was used to the give-me-your-number-and-I’ll-text-you routine. “I'll— I'll ring you.”

“I honestly hope you will,” said Gwaine, taking a step back towards the door. He looked less confident and more down to earth when he said, “I'll be going now, so you can see I'm not a crazed maniac.”

“Okay.”

Recovering all his confidence, Gwaine said, “See you, gorgeous.”

Line delivered rather grandly, he trotted down the steps and was soon out of sight.

Merlin sighed, looked at the boxes and closed the door. Well, well, that had been quite the meeting.

****

Two days later Merlin had forgotten about the chance encounter. Okay, he hadn't forgotten the handsome man who'd called him ‘gorgeous’ per se, but he'd sat himself down and decided to be reasonable about it.

What were the odds the man had been serious as opposed to labouring under the effects of some automated flirting response to being ogled? Some people did that as if it was second nature. And if Gwaine had been serious, what were the odds of someone like _that_ not trampling all over Merlin's heart?

Slim to none.

Merlin had fiddled with his mobile for two days before racking up the courage to ring up Gwaine.

And when he had, he'd hung up, floundering for words. He’d meant to sound friendly but not as if he was hunting for a date, but hadn’t even managed to spit out a very basic ‘hello’.

It was Monday and he was on his way to work when his mobile emitted that chirpy tune Will had downloaded, the one warning him of an in-coming call. “Hello,” he said.

“You hung up,” said a voice Merlin knew at once to be Gwaine’s.

Crap. “Yes.”

“But you phoned.”

“Well, yes,” said Merlin.

A low chuckle. “I'll be there at your housewarming party,” said Gwaine, ringing off.

Merlin hadn't meant to throw a housewarming party but he now thought he would.

It wasn’t as if he was doing it for Gwaine. His friends might like the idea. New house; it stood to reason. It was logical. A gesture not inspired by Gwaine’s parting words at all.

Needing some inspiration as to how to organise the thing, Merlin stopped at the first newsagent stand he could find within the bounds of the tube station and bought himself a magazine.

After all he was plenty early for work.

He started reading his magazine only when he was about to go board his daily commute train, because he'd never managed to make sense of any written text while on the move — although some people did it quite successfully.

Having conquered a seat like William the Conqueror had England, he started merrily flipping the pages, having almost forgotten the reason why he'd bought the magazine in the first place — those glossy pictures being distracting — when his eyes landed on a two page spread, advertising, if Merlin had been of a mind to care about the product, a gold Longines Grand Classique watch.

The perfectly groomed, suited-up model who was staring sultrily at the camera, lips parted, stubble dotting his chin in a rakish way, was none other than Merlin's new neighbour, Gwaine.

Oh, God, Merlin thought. His housewarming party would never be stylish enough. He had a semi — almost but not quite — date — actually, he would like to know the score on that one — with a model.

These things only happened to Merlin.

The End


End file.
